


Playing Possum

by baranduin



Series: No Night Is Too Long [19]
Category: No Night is Too Long (2002)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-14
Updated: 2010-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-06 06:34:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baranduin/pseuds/baranduin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pr0n for Alchemilla.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing Possum

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the fanfic100 community challenge #081--How?

Later on ... after I said it and ruined everything ... he was always pretending to be asleep. Tim was always such a little coward and never more so after he'd decided that he didn't really want me after all but couldn't figure out how to get out of it.

So he grew tired at 8:00 at night, he began to yawn at 9:00 and he was always in bed before I was, feigning sleep when I made my appearance at a more normal time, an adult time. You see, I wasn't about to change my own habits because Tim was having a crisis of confidence about what to do about this thing that began at his instigation.

I'd go into the bedroom and strip off. "You asleep?" Oh, I couldn't resist asking. Usually he'd just lie there, wouldn't move at all, not even when I'd spoon up behind him. At least he had the decency to get into bed naked. But then, Tim was rather strict about maintaining certain decencies of public behavior, wasn't he? Public. Right.

Now, sometimes, he'd get a little more creative and mumble something like, "Sleepy. Night." He was really quite accomplished at making his voice thick with nonexistent sleep, he should have taken up acting as a profession. He would have done well. Those were the nights when I knew that he still wanted it, still wanted me in him hard and fast and I would never want to disappoint him.

Didn't want to disappoint myself either, so I didn't give a fuck whether he was pretending not to want it or really didn't want it from me. Though I always found it more than a little telling that, whether or not his brain was into the proposition (let's not speak of his heart), his cock was always hard, so very hard when I'd slide my hand over his hip and squeeze him, just give him a little squeeze.

I do think it was his preferred method of fucking, lying still, not moving, not even when I pushed into him from behind, pushed hard. Sometimes he'd groan a bit, but he wouldn't move. It must have killed him not to move, not to push back against me to get my cock deeper into him. He loved it. That's the way he wanted it, the way he craved it. Is that how he was with Gilman in his school days? To be passive, that really was Tim, wasn't it? Passive, receptive, unmoving and unmoved.

I would have done anything if he'd moved for me, if he'd turned round and put his arms around my neck. If he'd wrapped his legs around my back, taking his hand to put me back in him, pulling me deeper into him, whispering to me that it was true, that he did love me, that he always had, that he always would.

"Tim," I'd say sometimes, I couldn't help it. I wouldn't say anything else, just say his name, softly. I couldn't say more to him. Didn't matter because he never answered me, not with the slightest twitch of his ass toward me. The only thing that twitched was his cock in my hand, slippery cock jerking like a live thing in my hand and my own cock jerking inside him, looking for something.

He'd come with a gasp. Ah, finally, something, a sound. He'd spill into my hand with a quick intake of breath, just one, while his come pulsed hard and warm into my loving hand.

One night I looked down at him when he came, so close myself, so close to it myself that it hurt. His spasms were dying down, gently. And then I saw that his hand was gripping the sheet, squeezing hard then releasing and squeezing again, his fingers curled in a tight ball.

He was moving after all.


End file.
